Five Year Curse
by SarcasticPerson
Summary: Callen decides to leave the team in LA, in order to 'put his talents to better use' by becoming a different sort of government operative. But when something goes wrong, how will he react when faced with the team he left behind?
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** **I didn't want to mention this in the summary, because it sounds like I'm playing the pity card, but this is my first fanfiction! I had an idea and didn't see anything similar around, so I thought - why not? I hope you like it! Any reviews would be greatly appreciated, whether positive or negative. After all, I won't improve if I don't know there's a problem!**

**Anyway, enough of me, and onto the story! I hope you enjoy it!**

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><p><span>Five Year Curse<span>

Chapter 1:

Hetty saw him coming. She already knew what he was going to say; he could see it in her eyes. But then, this was Hetty. Of course she knew.

He'd been playing this scene over and over in his head as he parked his car, but he still had no idea what he was going to say. This team was the closest thing to family he'd found in a long time – probably not since the Rostoffs. He had a best friend in Sam – their partnership had just hit the 5 year milestone. Just last week they'd been discussing how to celebrate when they made 10 years.

When, not if. Pessimism had no place in their line of work. But now he wished he hadn't been so optimistic about it. He was the glass-half-empty kind of guy, he'd never even believed in optimism before he'd met Sam. Hope for the best, expect the worst; that was the way life was. Somehow though, Sam had made it past all the walls he built, and somehow, he had become G Callen's friend. Not an easy task.

5 years. It was a lifetime in his books. If he was superstitious, he might have said it was cursed. He had been 5 years old when his mother had been killed, and he had begun his travels through the foster care system. Now, 5 years with a new family had passed, and he was being torn from them as well.

He walked straight to Hetty's desk, quickly so he didn't dwell on his thoughts. He wouldn't be able to go through with this otherwise. She watched him calmly, but with a faint sheen of sadness in her eyes. Those who did not know her would have seen nothing wrong, but he could see the slight tremor in her hands as she raised her ever-present teacup to her lips and sipped delicately.

"Hetty, I –"

But he got no further. Hetty silenced him with a hand, and he waited as she set her cup back down and looked up at him.

"Mr Callen. Sit down, please. I would say good morning, but I feel it would be an error."

He tried again, "Hetty, I just – "

But again she cut him off, "Sit down, Mr Callen. We have much to discuss, if what I have heard is true,"

"That depends, what have you heard?" She smiled slightly at the typical Callen response, but with no real humour.

"You are leaving us," He moved as though to interrupt, "No, Mr Callen, let me finish. Director Vance spoke to me this morning, and told me you would be relinquishing your post with us. I know the what, but he did not tell me the why. And so I am going to ask you. Why, Callen? I thought you were happy here. Has something happened?"

He smirked, but the humour couldn't make it to his eyes either. "You could say that. Hetty, you know me. My entire life I have wanted to serve this country in the best way I can, and for the last six years I felt that here was the best place to do that. But now, I've been offered a place... elsewhere, where I can do even more. This team has grown to mean a lot to me, Hetty, but if I can do better elsewhere, you can't expect me to pass this up."

He paused, well aware that he had said a lot at once for him, and looked at Hetty. Her face was blank, but her eyes held hidden depths of emotion.

"Very well Mr Callen, I respect it is your decision," she said slowly, "However I must tell you that I expected you to find it harder to make this decision than it appears to have been."

"It was, but –"

"Mr Callen, this team has become your family. I like to think I know you better than most, and I know that you have been searching for your family all your life. Forgive me if I tell you this led me to believe you would find it hard to leave us behind."

Callen sighed, a rare display of emotion.

"Hetty, it was hard. I know you think I should take longer to think things over, but then I think about things most of the night too. I have thought about this, and I will miss this team, but... I think it's what I need to do."

Hetty stared at him sadly. Need, not want. She knew there was more to it than patriotism. Callen had always had the reflex to run away from anything that made him happy, before it could go wrong and hurt him. She had hoped his bond with the team would help him to overcome it, but it seems that it was only delaying the inevitable.

"If that is what you have decided, then I will not stand in your way, Mr Callen."

He sighed in obvious relief that she was not going to push him.

"However, there is one more thing I would like to know. The Director did not specify where you were going. Perhaps you will tell me?"

Callen had been dreading this question. He looked up at Hetty, and she was concerned when she saw the darkness pooling in his eyes.

"Black ops," he whispered.

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><p><strong>So... What did you think? Please review if you have any thoughts, I want to make this better for you to read!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This chapter is a bit of a filler, I've realised. Nothing really happens, but it explains a few things and the rest of the story wouldn't make sense without it so... here it is! Please review!**

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><p>Chapter 2:<p>

*Five Years Later*

Callen watched as his team prepared for the final part of their operation. Each of them was checking their weapons and adjusting their body armour, while he put credit cards and a driving license into his wallet. His picture with someone else's name. Today they were finally putting into action what they had spent months gathering intel and getting ready to do; they were going to bring down a minor terrorist group's heart of operations, and all he had to defend himself with was a particularly dirty set of car keys. It was all very well if he was attacked by a swarm of angry padlocks, but heavily armed terrorists? It was probably a good thing he was one of the best undercover operatives America had; he was going to need every bit of skill he possessed to make it out of this one unscathed, and a heavy dose of luck.

This was the issue with having such a diverse group, he thought for the millionth time. No one's there to back you up of things go south. Sure, this team comprised of five of the best in their respective fields, but he was the only undercover specialist. He got them in, and then together they blew the place sky high, or maybe not, depending on their orders. But however good this team was, Callen was alone and with no immediate support for the huge majority of their operations.

He checked his appearance in the cracked mirror; he was wearing a casual, loose fitted suit supposedly designed to keep the stifling heat of the Middle East out – but judging by the bead of sweat running down his forehead, it wasn't doing a very good job. He adjusted his collar as his colleagues strapped guns of all shapes and sizes all over their bodies. He knew why he couldn't have a gun – he would be searched almost as soon as he arrived – but it didn't stop the small of his back feeling uncomfortably bare.

"Ghost, you ready?"

He turned to face his team leader. He knew the man's history - he knew he had been a Marine for 7 years with an exemplary record before being picked for this team - but he didn't know his name. They worked on a code-name only basis, to protect their identities if one of them was ever compromised, and so to his team he was Ghost, and the man who had spoken was Judge.

"As I'll ever be," he replied, glancing at the rest of the team as they grabbed their final tools before Judge turned to them.

"Right then, you all know the plan, men. Smith, you got all the charges?"

"Double and triple-checked, Judge. We've got enough to level half of Manhattan, if we use them all." the demolitions expert answered.

"Good, then if you're all ready..." the team members nodded, "We're out of here. See you later, Ghost."

Callen nodded as his team filed out of the house. They would go and get into position long before he could leave. He had to ensure there were no traces that this dusty old house had ever been disturbed since it was abandoned about 20 years ago. He combed the place for rubbish with a metaphorical toothpick, put it in a bag and burnt it, before scattering the ashes. He made sure they had left no imprints in the dust, no stains on the mirror, no evidence they had ever passed through at all.

Callen had been working up the ranks of this minor terrorist group for over eight weeks, and today was nothing special. That was the mistake other teams like theirs so often made – to wait for a special occasion before making their move, like an important visitor or special delivery. But on special occasions security was ramped up and suspicion was everywhere – make one wrong move and you would be executed as a traitor. It was the way terrorists worked.

So today was nothing special. Or at least, that was what the terrorists thought. As long as everything went to plan, this day was going to be very special indeed.

As Callen gave the house one final search, he let himself wonder how much easier this job would be if he had a partner. Someone with different ideas, someone with a different way of thinking, and could spot the clues in this house that he couldn't. Someone like... no, he wouldn't think about that team. That was years ago, another life entirely. He wouldn't let memories distract him now.

As he left the house he forced those thoughts back into the depths of his mind, and focused on the task at hand. He measured his breathing, and with each step along the sandy path he felt himself become someone else. The ice-cold eyes that looked up from the ground were not those of G Callen, they were those of James Colvin – a dirty lawyer with a history that meant he wanted to see America brought to her knees in the most destructive and deadly way possible – and more than that, he wanted to help make it happen.

He walked south-west for two miles before reaching a typical rock formation. He was still a mile from the main road north into town, but this way no questions were asked when an old jeep drove out the back of the huge pile of rocks, with Colvin at the wheel. He joined the main road and headed into town.

It was a small, nondescript town with a population of just under 300, but the quiet and peaceful façade hid the headquarters of one of the fastest growing up-and-coming terrorist groups of the decade. Colvin dumped the jeep at the side of the road before continuing on foot to a small cottage on the north-west outskirts of town. He glanced around quickly as he made his way to the door, nodding almost imperceptibly towards where he knew Snake was hidden among the shrubbery, sniper in hand and scope to his eye.

Colvin entered the grimy kitchen of the cottage through the front door that had definitely seen better days, as the rusty hinges groaned in protest as he pushed it open. He strode confidently through to what must have once been the living room, judging by the little furniture there was. A thin, worn down rug that had once been bright with colour but which time had faded to a dull brown lay on the floor. The sofa had not fared much better, and over the years it had gained a dull grey colour. Other than these two lonely items, the room was bare. But he had not yet reached his destination, and so passed through into a small, narrow hallway. To the right was the only bedroom, and in front of him, the bathroom.

Callen had to appreciate the intelligence of hiding the trap door in the bathroom. After all, even if this place was ever searched, no one would ever dream of looking too hard in a bathroom that hadn't been cleaned in over 10 years, and showed it. Grime covered the taps and a worrying grey fuzz coated the inside of the make-shift bathtub.

But Colvin did not stop and consider the wise thinking of his employers – he bent down by the bathtub and shifted the remnants of a towel off of the sturdy brass hoop that it concealed. He grabbed hold of the hoop and pulled, lifting a section of the floor and revealing a long ladder going down, lit at 5 metre intervals by dim lamps that struggled to compete with the suffocating blackness.

Again, Colvin did not hesitate. He climbed down onto the ladder and pulled the trap door shut, locking himself into the tunnel with only one way to go – down.

The ladder was 15 metres tall, and Colvin reached the bottom after about a minute and paused for breath. Callen did not need it, but an ex-lawyer should not have his fitness. He now had two choices of direction, as the tunnel extended apparently endlessly to the left and right. Colvin took the left, and within 50 metres had reached the secret that enabled the terrorist group to be based in such a remote area.

A metal staircase led down to the floor of a huge natural cavern, at least the size of three football pitches, and filled with noise and activity. Walls made of empty crates turned the space into a huge maze, with separate areas for storage, training, planning and whatever else was needed. This place also had the facilities to hold prisoners, but they were not in the caves. Colvin had never seen those areas, but he knew they were on the other side of that ladder.

The sheer size of the place amazed Callen, but Colvin did not care for aesthetics. He jogged down the stairs and stopped in front of the ever present guards. He was waved forward by a pair on the right, and he stepped towards them.

"Name?" one asked, rifling through the pages on the clipboard he was holding.

"James Colvin," he replied easily, raising his arms as the second came forward to search him.

"He's clean," the second one announced. "Is he on the list?"

"Got him right here. You can go through," the first answered, looking up at Callen.

It always surprised Callen how many of the people here were American. The one who had searched him looked like he was barely 20, yet somehow he had become part of a terrorist organisation in the Middle East. Of the higher ranking members that Colvin had met, only one so far had been born in this continent, the others all came from around the world, united by their shared hate of the USA. He wasn't going to complain though, as the international nature of the group meant English, conveniently, was the common language, which made his job a whole lot easier.

Colvin was due to report for a shift as an entry guard on the other side of the caverns, the entrance used by deliveries mainly, and a few members who weren't capable or willing to go down the ladder.

He arrived at his post about a minute early, and it looked like the guard he was relieving would be grateful for the break. Wordlessly he handed Colvin his clipboard and nodded at him in greeting, before striding away. Colvin glanced only momentarily at the clipboard, before handing it to the member he would be sharing his shift with.

Half an hour of his shift passed before anything out of the ordinary happened. Through the entrance tunnel came Smith, looking perfectly natural and confident. He had carefully arranged his equipment under his clothes, giving him both an excuse not to come down the ladder, and somewhere to hide the explosive charges. Smith appeared to be hugely obese, and Callen waved him over with a hand showing four fingers.

Smith came towards him, and Colvin's bored assistant barely glanced at him before sighing and looking back down at the clipboard.

"Name?"

"Kevin Taylor," Smith replied, and Callen walked forward and searched him, somehow managing not to notice the oddly shaped bulges that formed Smith's huge belly.

"He's clean." Colvin said.

"His name's here." his assistant answered.

But Callen knew that already. Four fingers had told Smith to use the fourth name that Colvin had learnt from the clipboard over his months here, and Colvin had glanced at the clipboard before handing it over, giving Callen a chance to see whether any of the names' owners had already arrived.

"You're good," Colvin said to Smith, waving him through. In fifteen minutes his shift was over and he could find Smith and get the day truly started.

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><p><strong>Next chapter will hopfully be up soon! I won't make any promises though, I don't know when I'll be able to figure out the details of the next bit...<strong>

**Reviews much appreciated!**


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